Vignette
by merick
Summary: So this is a story of Steve Rogers, James Barnes and a childhood friend. We must assume that Steve did not spend time as a Capsicle, and came home after the war; Bucky remaining a prisoner of Hydra, such as it was in the 50's. When Steve discovers who the Winter Soldier is, he brings him home, and tries to hide him from the forces who want him dead.


"You should get some rest Steve." Susanna brought her hand to rest on the man's slumping shoulder, keeping her voice low, not really wanting to disturb him, but knowing she had to, finally. "It's been nearly two days, you have to take a break. Let me change the dressing and sit with him for awhile while you go and lay down."

"He should have woken up by now, shouldn't he?" The look in Steve's face was heart breaking as he turned towards her, his tone, so desperate. It made her heart ache even more than it had been doing for the last forty-eight hours. Trying to keep a clinical tone to her voice she sought to reassure her old friend and conceal her own heartbreak, she gave him the best and most honest answer she could.

"He was shot Steve, and if he's been hurt the way you described to me, then it's hard to say just when he'll wake up. We can still take him to a hospital if you want."

"No hospital." Steve had never wavered on that point, she'd suggested it when he'd first shown up with James; in the middle of the night, through the back door, scanning the small property for any possible disturbance.

"Then let me take care of him for awhile, please. You won't do him any good if you collapse."

"You'll call me if anything changes Susanna?" She knew he didn't want to leave, but that he was at least amenable to her reason.

"Of course I will. You can rest in my room down the hall if you want, I'll even change the sheets."

"The couch will be just fine, thanks." He tried to smile, and the attempt was appreciated, but it was as half-hearted as his footsteps leaving the small bedroom. She listened as he walked down the narrow staircase with it's familiar squeaking, to the main floor. The house was old, most everything creaked a bit; it was the house she'd grown up in, and it had been old then too. A big man like Steve Rogers hardly fit the passage, and it had been a little tremulous bringing an unconscious man up those same steps, cradled in his arms; but he'd managed it as carefully as if he'd been carrying a child.

That was when Susanna went to work. Using her professional training she cleaned and dressed the through and through wound she had found in his upper right thorax. Though that hadn't been the most distressing thing she'd discovered while examining him; the metal arm had made her freeze for a moment, dropping the washcloth she'd wet to clean the blood off his chest. She didn't want to call it monstrous, and she'd tried to ignore it that first night instead concentrating on the gunshot, which really was the pressing issue. Fortunately it, (the gunshot) seemed to be responding well to her nursing, and Susanna knew that it wasn't all because of her skill; something else was going on. Steve had alluded to it, but had offered precious little in way of explanation, except to say that James was very strong, sort of like he was. She hadn't asked about the arm; she didn't even know if Steve could explain it.

It wasn't some sort of cast; it was obvious by the scars that the whole thing had been grafted to his shoulder girdle none too gently, likely replacing the full humerus and more inferior bones. The articulated segments were an absolute marvel, or rather they appeared to be, as she had never actually seen them move on their own, and she hadn't been so bold as to try to move them herself.

It took only a few minutes to change the dressing; after two days the skin had already begun to knit and scar over. Whatever had been done to James, it had left one gift for all its punishments; healing. Once that task was done and tidied away she sat down carefully beside him on the bed, brushing her fingers down his right arm, finally letting the nurse fade, and the friend emerge.

"James." She whispered. His body twitched. She curled her fingers into his and held his hand tightly.

"James?"

The next convulsion was more pronounced, James' head snapping first to the left then to the right. The metal hand then moved, the fingers clenching into a hard fist with a fluidity Susanna had not imagined possible of the machine.

"James, you are having a nightmare." She tried to soothe him with a whisper and careful fingers cradling his twitching jaw.

"What have they done to you?" She knew her voice sounded just about as weak as Steve's had only a few minutes earlier, and she wondered if she shouldn't call out for him from the couch. A moan from James drew her full attention back to his face, with a frantic sort of urgency.

"Wake up James, wake up, you're safe now, you're safe here. Please, it's just a nightmare." She pleaded with the barely conscious man.

His eyelids began to flutter, then snapped open, eyes fixed on her as quickly as his left hand grabbed at her, knocking her hand away from his face, and clutching her shoulder with a ferocity that made her cry out with shock. Not loud enough it seemed, to wake Steve though.

"Where am I?" He demanded of her, jaw set, eyes cold.

"You're safe."

"Where am I?" He asked again, his grip tightening enough to force her jaw to clench, and a tear to roll from her eye as she stifled another outburst.

"Manhattan, lower east side, in my house. Please James, you're hurting me."

"Manhattan?" He cocked his head in confusion, his jaw going a little slack, his eyes just a little wider as Susanna watched.

"You grew up here James." As he let his hand drop, Susanna pulled backwards instinctually, trying to check her fear and trying not to shake.

"How?" His voice was not as strong as it had been.

Susanna felt the tears welling in her eyes looking at the misery in his face as he questioned her.

"Captain Rogers brought you here. You'd been shot." She gestured at the bandage on his otherwise bare chest. "He said you'd jumped off a building. You were unconscious."

"He should have let me die." The metal fingers went to the gauze, pressing on it, frowning at the pain the pressure obviously caused.

"He couldn't do that James. He's your best friend. Do you," she tried to smile for his benefit but found the effort lacking and insincere. "Do you remember him?"

James' answers were vacant, as if he was processing many more things.

"A little. It's hard. I don't know if things are dreams or memories."

"I think Steve was hoping that this place might help you remember more. And that maybe I could look after you."

"You did the dressings?"

Susanna nodded. "I'm a nurse."

"And I've been here before?" He looked around at the room. Non-descript, neutral colors; on the walls, on the linens, a dresser with a bouquet of fake flowers on it, a quilt laid over the trunk at the brass footboard. He closed his eyes for a moment; she watched his brow wrinkle and lips purse with frustration.

"You have."

"Why did you let him bring me here. I'm a monster."

"I don't believe that, and neither does he."

"Then what am I to you? That you would do this?"

"You're my friend James. You have been for a very long time."

"I knew you?"

"You did." Her voice broke then, there was no point hiding the tears. They began to trickle down her cheeks as she reached out tentatively to cradle his face in her palm, wanting the contact in spite of the torture it caused her. "You did." She repeated in a whisper as she pulled her hand away.

"I'm sorry." His fingers brushed over her wrist, curling in towards her palm, tracing a paint stroke there. Looking upwards into his eyes, feeling those same fingers draw up the sleeve of her dressing gown, tenderly curving over her neck made her tremble. The touch was warm and familiar but so sad for her believing there was nothing behind it but pity.

"I should never have let myself hope."

Before she could finish her thought his mouth was brushing softly over hers, hardly any pressure at all, more like a promise, or perhaps, a guess, a gamble on his part. She sobbed midway through the kiss and he pulled away.

"Susanna?" His eyes looked so wide and so liquid, her expression fell with grief.

"Oh God, James. I've missed you so much."

The second kiss was desperately passionate. He parted her lips at the first touch, tasting her, fingers grasping around her neck, holding her close to him, grinding his mouth against hers. Parting only long enough for shallow gasps he returned to her, over and over, sharing the heat of her breath: her arms encircling his shoulders, clinging to him as if he could vanish like smoke from her embrace. That metal arm curled around her waist and pulled her off balance, rolling with her till she lay flat on the bed, he hovering over her.

"Suzy." The voice was muffled from a mouth buried in the strands of hair that had come loose from the knot she'd pulled it into. His hand had drifted down her leg and had begun pushing the hem of her nightgown upwards along her thigh. A hot mouth moved from her neck to her jawline, to her mouth even as he pushed his body within hers on a ferocious stroke, and she arched to receive him, moaning quietly against his kisses when she was able to steal a breath. Over and over they moved together, their motions tearing free the bedclothes, scattering the pillows to the floor. His chest was heavy on hers as he held himself still on a deep, long moan, dropping his head onto her breast, his fists balling up the remaining sheets. The convulsion rocked over her and through her till her own arms fell limply at her sides, and she had to close her eyes to even try to focus on making some sense of what she was feeling. The truth was, for that moment she really didn't want to make sense of it at all.

A warm hand, trembling she thought, pulled her robe closed over her body. Susanna then felt the mattress shift as James sat up on the bed. She found him hunched over his lap, legs crossed, his head in his hands, breathing deeply when she opened her eyes.

"James?" Fear crept into her heart, pushing away the bliss. She put her hand gently on his shoulder, over the scared flesh. He shivered at her touch, she hoped, not from any pain.

"I'm so sorry Susanna."

"James?"

"I should never have touched you. I had no right. You probably have a husband, a family. I considered none of that. I am a monster."

"You are not a monster James."

"Did Steve even tell you what I've done, what happened to me?"

"He told me you'd been brainwashed, made to do things that you would never do if you had been in control."

The face that looked at her presented misery in glistening eyes, and downturned lips.

"I killed people Susanna. Did he tell you that?"

"You were a soldier James."

"Not then, I was something else, something evil."

"You aren't evil James."

"Why would you even let me in your house?"

"You wouldn't ever hurt me James."

He reached up and brushed over her arm, where he'd held her so tightly earlier, wincing with the memory.

"You and Steve have been looking after me since I was a child." It was an attempt at reassurance.

James cocked his head, searching it seemed, for the memory she referenced.

"It was first grade." Susanna smiled, "I had ribbons in my hair, and uneven pigtails and an older girl took offence to me. Brought me to tears as I recall." She shrugged her shoulders. "Steve stood up for me and that girl swung for him. You stepped in then and ended it."

"I beat up a girl did I?" James sniffled a bit of a laugh.

"In your defense she was a rather big girl and seven, and you were only five. You two have been my friends ever since."

"I wish I could remember that, it sounds like a good story."

"You will remember it James. I know you will."

Reaching for her hand, very slowly, a shudder ran over his skin.

"How long has it been since we've seen each other?"

"About ten years."

The sigh was deep, the grip on her hand tightened.

"Were we together?"

She nodded. "Not that my father liked it much."

"So we'd done, that, before?" James gestured around at the bed, his question quite obvious. Susanna felt her face going red.

"Yeah." She nodded, biting her lip. "I loved you so much James." She whispered, feeling the tears begin to sting her eyes again.

"But something happened, didn't it? We didn't say goodbye. What did I do?"

"You didn't do anything James."

"Tell me, please, fill in these blanks before I tear myself apart."

"Okay. You're right, we didn't get to say goodbye. I was away, with my mother, helping my Aunt, she'd just had twins and with the three others she had at home, and a husband going off to work every day, she just couldn't manage. We weren't supposed to be gone for long, but I think maybe my parents kept me away on purpose."

"Wow, they really didn't like me much did they?"

"They didn't know you, not like I knew you, they didn't know the truth about how kind and courageous you were. They saw the boy who always had ladies falling for him, who walked with a strut like he owned the world. But that wasn't you James. Not the you that snuck in the fire escape to see me, not the you that kissed me like you needed me to breathe. God." She wiped the tears off her cheeks with angry swipe of her fist. "I told myself I wasn't going to do this."

She took in a very deep breath as he watched her in silence, allowing her to steady herself.

"You'd already shipped out by the time I got back. I wanted to write to you but my Dad said that I shouldn't distract you from your duties. I don't know why I listened to him; I don't know why I didn't try harder to find out where you were when I got back. Steve was gone by then, I didn't have anyone to ask. I'm so sorry James."

"Your father told me you didn't want to see me anymore, that you'd gone to stay with family." His answer was deadpan, toneless, frozen.

"You came to find me?"

"Yeah, I did. I remember that now. I was angry, confused when I left here that last time."

"He never told me that."

"Tell me more?" He pleaded.

"I think maybe I need to show you something. Will you come with me James?"

He nodded.

The upstairs of the house was small, the one bedroom they'd come from, the master bedroom, a washroom and a second bedroom, this one obviously occupied, and decorated with models and comic books.

"This is my son's room." Susanna whispered, her tone unsteady, her hands trembling a little.

"You have a son?"

Her smile was gentle as she stepped into the room and lit a small lamp on the nightstand. Even though the room was empty of people, it held so many memories for Susanna; such wonderful images of a young man just starting his journey. She picked up a school photo she'd placed in a small silver frame and turned to hand it to James.

"He'll be ten years old in a few weeks." Saying it out loud was terribly hard. She couldn't look at James as she did it. She paused, waiting for some kind of response from him. When it came, it was nearly as quiet.

"What's his name?"

"Michael." The tears began to run down her face again, she let them. "Michael James Barnes."

He looked from the photo, back up to her, and then back to the photo, making the connection and sliding to the floor with a horrible cry. There was no disguising that from Steve, who came pounding up the staircase with his own cry.

"Bucky!"

"They took me away from my son." He cried out, fist pounding the floor hard enough to make the hallway table shake.

"What?" Steve was visibly confused and looked from his friend's hunched form to Susanna's tear streaked face.

"He's my son. They took me away from my son!"

Susanna dropped to her knees, wrapping her arms over James' bare shoulders, trying to shore him up, but really needing to hold onto him, lest she collapse herself. She'd spared no thought for what or how she was going to reveal this news to James when Steve had carried him up her stairs, unconscious. She'd been consumed with helping him, and, of course, stunned to have seen him alive again.

"I'm sorry James, I'm so sorry. I tried to send you word."

He looked at her, cheeks as red as hers, she imagined, lips swollen, tears running as rapidly as her own. James held the photograph up towards Steve, who took it carefully, looking into the small face, a smile grazing his own.

"He looks a lot like you did at that age Bucky."

"He's so much like you James, you'd be so proud."

"I missed everything." The moan was unearthly and it made Susanna quiver.

"Bucky, come on, let's go downstairs, I'll make some coffee, we can talk."

"I'm going to need something stronger than coffee."

"There's whiskey over the icebox if you don't mind fetching it Steve."

The trio around the kitchen table was quite grim, not helped at all by the old overhead yellowed light fixture that cast sallow shadows to enhance the already dark circles under everyone's eyes. The first bottle went rather quickly, shot by rapid shot down James' throat as his chest heaved with pent up anger and sorrow. Susanna told her story with her eyes generally fixed on the worn Formica of the tabletop.

"I didn't know I was pregnant when you shipped out. My mother figured it out a few weeks later. She and my Father were horrified; they didn't want me to speak about it to anyone, let alone try to contact you lest anyone else discover their shame. My Dad kept saying to me that I was a disgrace; until you started showing up on the newsreels. By then Michael had come into our lives. I tried to contact you, but because of your missions with Captain America the Army wouldn't tell me where you were stationed, and I suppose you both had a great deal of mail from young women sitting in an office somewhere. That's likely where my letters went."

James took another two shots in rapid succession. The knuckles of his right hand went white around the tumbler. It was hard to say just who he was angry at just then; the people who had taken him, the US government, or himself?

"When we heard you'd been killed in action." Susanna choked on a sob, remembering that miserable time. "I cried for weeks. But Michael needed me, and there was nothing I could do, so I pulled myself up and went to nursing school and raised him the best I could."

"Does he know about me?"

"Of course he does. I never lied to him about who his father was, or what kind of person you were." She corrected herself, "You are."

"His father is an assassin." James was staring into the amber remnants in his glass.

"His father is home. Whoever you were forced to be when you were away is not the real you James. He is proud of you, I am proud of you, this whole neighborhood is proud of you."

"I want to meet him."

"Of course. He's staying with his cousins for a few days, just while I tended to you. They aren't far. We can go in the morning."

Steve stepped into the conversation.

"Do you think that's a good idea Bucky?"

"I can control myself around my son Steve."

"I'm coming with you then."

"Whatever you need to do." He poured himself another glass and slammed it back. The second bottle didn't last much longer.

Steve helped James up the stairs with Susanna following behind. James didn't actually seem all that intoxicated, but he certainly was unsteady; the source of which was likely the soul-crushing blows he'd been dealt over the last few hours. He'd come to her house, unconscious, and not conscious of who she was, what they had meant to each other once, and that he was a father. His shock was more than understandable, and was certainly forgivable. The way he sat down on the bed, with a thump that made the floor shake said a great deal about how he was feeling. Steve put his hand on James' shoulder before he left the room, gripping it tightly as he pursed his lips, obviously not knowing what he should say or do. James responded with a slight nod, and his own clenched, forlorn smile.

"Do you want me to leave you alone, to sleep for awhile James?"

"The last thing I want right now is to be alone. If you would stay?"

She nodded, biting her lower lip, turning to close the bedroom door, steading herself from the pounding heart in her chest. She wasn't convinced that it was solely apprehension; no it was a mixture of so many things. When she turned back, he'd stood up, and was facing her. His lips were parted, and his eyes were wide, the pupils blown with the beautiful blue irises only a halo around the shadow. It was easy to see that he was taking slow breaths as his chest rose and fell.

"Why do you call me James? Steve calls me Bucky. Things I've read about me call me Bucky. Why the difference?"

"Everyone called you Bucky, you're right. And when we were kids I did too. But when things changed between us, when we grew up it just seemed like you should be James for me, it was like it made you mine only, somehow."

"I am yours." He stepped towards her, reaching out to brush his fingers down her cheek. She closed her eyes and leaned into the touch. "If you still want me."

"I never stopped wanting you James."

The brush of his mouth on hers was soft and tentative, the pressure more like a whisper, so unlike the desperate screams of the resurgent memories of earlier. He was the gentle boy she'd fallen hard for back in school, the man she'd given everything to. She stepped forward into his chest, feeling the metal arm wrap her tightly as she kissed him again, cocking her head to the side, parting his lips, and stealing his breath.

Nimble fingers pulled at the loose knot of her robe, trembling ones pushed it off her shoulders.

"You are so beautiful."

"You forgive me?"

His hands stilled on her arms.

"Only if you forgive me."

Looking him straight in the eyes Susanna drew her hands down his chest, letting her fingers curl under the waistband of his pants, tugging at them till he smiled and undid them himself, pushing them to the floor as she undid the ribbon at the neck of her gown, letting it fall likewise.

His body was warm and firm over hers, his skin brushing over hers so carefully as he bent to kiss her mouth, then her neck, across her collarbones and down the center of her chest as she trembled, and arched her body into his, combing her fingers through his hair, trying to remember to breathe. He was murmuring into her ear, or was it a low purr? It didn't matter; there were so many things to focus on just then; his mouth, his hands, the careful fingers, and urge of his hips against hers. Her sigh was more than audible, she felt him tremble underneath her fingertips, encouraged by her desires, driven to increased pressures against her, and a hungrier mouth taking breath from her lips.

When his hand drifted down her thigh, urging her to bend her knee, she did it willingly. He stopped his motions for a moment, looking into her eyes, his pale blue ones liquid looking down at her.

"You want me don't you Suzy?"

"I've never wanted anyone else James."

She saw his lip tremble, and reached up to brush a stray tear from his lower lid.

With a gentle stroke he was inside her; carefully rocking himself against her slowly. Susanna knew her own face was wet with tears as they built upwards together, and collapsed, his arms wrapping her like a lifeline.


End file.
